A Study in Camelot (Merlin-Johnlock x-over with bits of Doctor Who)
by star1bandit
Summary: When a mysterious blue box appears that Sherlock has been fascinated by for years, he and John go to get his first close look. However, their worlds are turned upside down when their examination ends with them outside of ancient Camelot. Soon he's is helping prove the innocence of people suspected of witchcraft, but things turn when he and John must convince Arthur it can be good.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Ouch! Would you stop that?"

John glared angrily at the slender man sitting across the room, who was playing with a small wooden catapult. The man stared at the contraption with his eyes, the rest of his face tilted halfway between John and the catapult.

"Interesting. It didn't go as high as I was pointing with that amount of torque."

"That's a load. You've hit me in the same place the last fifteen shots. I'm surprised there isn't a bruise yet!" The man moved his eyes up to look at John, a small smile crossing his lips and eyes. Nothing else on his face moved. "Really, Sherlock, is this for a case?"

Sherlock tossed the toy to the side, into a heap of clothing. "Really, John. I haven't had a case in over a week. I told you that this morning."

"Was that before or after I got home from work?" John worked at a local hospital, and had gotten called last minute for the graveyard shift to help when there had been a bad wreck.

"You weren't scheduled to work," replied the curly dark-haired prat. John couldn't be frustrated with him about any of it, he had a hard time being frustrated with Sherlock at all. At least face to face. He still did his best to look exasperated as Sherlock pulled out a mobile phone. He typed into the plowing screen as he continued. "If you had followed that schedule, you would have heard me when I told you that there's been nothing interesting happening. No weird mystery. No serial killer different from the rest. No box."

"I was on call, Sherlock. And no box? Wha-oh never mind. But what about that pile-up last night? 20 cars. No reason for them to not stop, most claiming the breaks didn't work. I heard them try to get you on it and-_Is that my phone?_"

"Not interesting enough," he replied simply as John walked over and swiped the device from his hands."

"Not interesting enough? Last month you took on a case not nearly as interesting! And I DO NOT GIVE MONEY TO LITTLE BOYS WHO SLEEP WITH ME!" Sherlock needed to stop doing this. John's last several relationships ended because of him stealing his phone and sending crap like this to his girlfriend.

"Well good enough last month was different from good enough this month. It's October, something more strange should happen then September.

"As for the little boys, when have you ever slept with one and not given them money?"

"Never!" At Sherlock's raised eyebrows, John felt some of his anger dissipate, and added more softly "Because I've never slept with a little boy!" Sherlock smiled and looked down in his lap, where he was fiddling with something else.

John decided to just give up. He stood up and grabbed his jacket from on top of Sherlock's feet. "Never mind. I'm going out for a bit."

He didn't get very far. Before he could, Mrs. Hudson was coming up the stairs with a dirty, ragged-looking man. A man from that homeless-person network Sherlock got information from.

Looking at him, John couldn't mask his surprise. The homeless network could be found just about anywhere, and Sherlock had gone to them several times with John around, but he'd never seen them inside a building before.

"Sherlock, you have a visitor, dear. This man insisted on seeing you." Sherlock moved his eyes up, and raised his brow once more.

"Sorry to come in, Mr. Holmes, but I knew you'd like to know immediately. The blue box is back."

Before John could guess at what he meant, Sherlock jumped up and started putting on his coat and scarf. "Where is it?"

"It's just a few miles away, just north of Fleet Street. It's on a side pedestrian road called Bolt Court."

The man hadn't even finished speaking before Sherlock was down the stairs. The only reason John got to the door before it slammed shut on him was because he'd been ready to go out. Even with this, he barely had time to slide into the cabbie behind Sherlock.

After riding for a minute in silence (which was odd, considering it was Sherlock), John finally broke it.

"Blue...box?" was all he had to say to get Sherlock's mouth going.

"The box, John. The blue box." He paused to look at John, seeing if it registered. He sighed and went on, looking the other way.

"For years I've known about it, this mysterious blue phone-box. It appears one day, and vanishes the next."

"Okay, so someone's moving it?" Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. He did that often, and to everyone.

Not just moving. _Making it disappear._ No trace, whatsoever. Cameras show it there one minute, and gone the next. No change in place other than the disappearing. No picture in another camera. Most times no feasible place where it could've been hidden."

"It does this on its own, then?"

"No, I don't believe so. There's always this man that goes to it and gets in before it disappears. When it _appears,_ he sometimes gets out, and it's only disappeared without him on one or two occasions that I'm aware of."

"And he does all this? All on his own?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." John watched as Sherlock crinkled his nose in frustration. John looked away quickly feeling his face heat. _Thank god for mannerisms_, he thought. "Most of the time he's with other people, but sometimes he's by himself. And that's one of the weird parts. I've seen video of ten people entering it."

"How big is this box?"

"Weren't you listening? 'Phone box.' How big do you think it is?"

"Then how-"

"I don't know." John knew that Sherlock had a love-hate relationship with not knowing. Sometimes it frustrated the hell out of him, sometimes it had him fascinated and entertained. Today, John was seeing a rare moment when it was doing both.

After nearly fifteen minutes, they pulled over and were let out. Sherlock was striding down the pavement before it came to a complete halt, forcing John to pay. He shook his head in slight annoyance as he handed the cabbie a wad of cash, not waiting for his change in hopes of catching up.

As he sprinted towards his partner, he saw the thing Sherlock had been talking about. The blue police phone box.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Oh, god," John breathed. Sherlock halted his examination immediately and turned on the man.

"You recognize this thing?" he demanded.

"Well…"

"Spit it out, John."

"I was trapped in one of these for over twelve hours." Sherlock raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise. "We found an old one, and you know how military men are. It was payback for locking a few in a regular phone booth and dumping water on them."

"What was it like on the inside?"

"Um…Wooden? It was really beat up, old."

Sherlock hissed in frustration as he slowly circled the box. "Are you sure it was this box?"

"I never said that!"

"Well you should have specified."

John opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, he was interrupted by a noise like a lock clicking and a door swinging. Sherlock bolted to the front of the box and stopped in front of the opening doors. John watched as he paused there and gave the smile John loved so much, and then swiftly walked through the doors. John followed after only a moment's hesitation, sending a silent plea to the universe they wouldn't be locked in together.

Though if it were with Sherlock…

He didn't have a chance to finish that thought, as his mind was sidetracked by what he saw. Through the doors was a room. Not a small cramped space, but a massive room with extensive amounts of machinery whose purpose John couldn't even guess at. He barely registered Sherlock's "Magnificent!" as he spun around towards the door. He must've missed something, and the size difference was an optical illusion, he thought as he went to go outside, barely aware that Sherlock was babbling on. Before he reached his destination, however, the doors slammed in his face.

"Uh, Sherlock?" he interrupted as he tried, and failed, to get the doors open again.

"Not now, John. I'm thinking. Now there must be a-"

"Sherlock."

"Or maybe it was some sort of-"

"SHERLOCK!"

"What, John?" The thin man turned around angrily at the one who interrupted his train of thought.

"It won't open." John rattled the door to prove his point.

"What do you mean, it won't open?" Sherlock closed the gap in fewer steps than most people would need, and pushed on the door. "Someone must've locked us in." John decided that if there was a God, he either had a sense of humor or was a prick.

He started banging on the door, trying to get the attention of whoever had locked them in. "Hey, prats! This isn't fun-ack!"

The floor was moving. It turned into a steep slope beneath their feet, and soon John and Sherlock were jammed together, sliding who knows where. John felt his eyes were fooling him as he watched the shape of the floor change in front of them, just quick enough to direct their movements. Looking behind them showed that it returned to normal as soon as they were past, almost as if there was a bubble around them causing this. He felt his stomach protest this impossible feat, and closed his eyes. It was easier to just concentrate on his other senses. The feeling of sliding. Sherlock's warmth enveloping his side.

The delicious scent of Sherlock.

John's eyes flew open at this thought. He pushed it to the recesses of his mind, thinking himself stupid despite that opinion never helping him before. Sherlock was just his friend. And straight.

Was he?

John gladly let that thought vanish from his mind as they finally got tossed into a corner of the room. "What the hell just happened?" he asked Sherlock from the uncomfortable position. He knew before the question was finished that it was in vain. But before Sherlock could admit his not knowing, they heard the sound of people talking and laughing. The doors swung open, and two…interesting people walked in.

"Oh, toss off," said one, a ginger woman who looked to be in her forties, her smile the only thing ruining her attempted air of indignity.

"Oh, come on!" said the man. He was very odd, wearing 3D glasses.

He also had the most magnificent hair John had ever seen. "It was funny!"

"You're one to talk, wearing those things!" she retorted. John had had enough, and decided to get their attention.

"Um, excuse me?" he called, but they didn't seem to hear it as they continued their conversation. "Sorry-um excuse-EXCUSE ME!"

Were they deaf? John decided to approach him, going to stand up. That's when he realized.

He and Sherlock were stuck.

He could shift positions, but no more. He couldn't even get space between them. The unwelcome thoughts about Sherlock's nearness were brought back up to the surface.

Sherlock…he'd been awful quiet since the two have come in. John turned and looked, only slightly surprised to see him in his meditative position. He also noticed the wrappers of five nicotine patches littering the floor. He'd never seen his companion so befuddled.

"Um…Sherlock?"

"Not now, John," he hissed. John gave an exasperated sigh, filling his cheeks then letting the air out as he let his head drop.

"That's odd," John heard the man say.

"What is it?" replied the woman.

"I got a reading, followed immediately by an opposite one. It's almost like the TARDIS changed the report."

"Why would it do that?"

"_She_," he corrected. "I dunno…."

John watched as he tweaked levers and pushed buttons. This machine-the TARDIS-was hiding him and Sherlock. But why?

"Well, she seems determined not to show me," he said when he stood back after several minutes of this. The man huffed out a sigh much like the one John had just given. "Might as well be on our way. You wanted to see the planet Midnight and its wonderful spa, right?" He began turning and pushing things again, and soon a loud noise filled the air. John watched in amazement as the machines sprang to life and started moving, seemingly of their own accord. Then the whole room started vibrating and moving, and John felt the need to grab hold of something. He noticed that Sherlock didn't seem to find this need though, and remembered that this…thing, wasn't letting them move much anyway.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he shouted, but again to no avail. The couple hanging tight to the middle consul of the room gave no sign of hearing them. John just held on, his brain confused by the feel of the force keeping him in place.

Finally, the movement stopped. John looked up in surprise as the strange man let out a shout. "What? Why? Don't stop here! We wanted Midnight four-hundred years in the future, not Earth twelve-hundred years in the past!"

_Twelve-hundr-What?_ thought John. he looked up as the man strode past him through a door he hadn't even noticed, followed by the woman. He listened as their footsteps and conversation diminished down what seemed a long hallway. He would've wondered how big the inside really was, but before the thought could form, the floor changed again.

This time, the floor rose up to make a long slide, sending him and Sherlock right out the doors. They landed outside in, the middle of the forest. They both jumped up to bang on the doors of the box, but before they could, the thing started to fade. It was like watching a movie fade to black, but only the box disappeared from sight. John was in too much shock to realize their predicament, until Sherlock pointed it out.

"We just moved…in a strange blue box…

…into the middle of nowhere."


End file.
